Freaky Thursday
by dragonmactir
Summary: In a slight Marvel-universe crossover, Shawn and Lassiter fall afoul of the Orb of Agamotto, which decides to teach them a lesson about themselves and each other by forcing them to live one day in each other's shoes. Could be considered slightly pre-LASSIET, but is not intentionally of that ship. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

**A/N: **Another B-Day present-to-self. I've toyed with the body-swap cliché in my head for quite a while, and only time and Loafer's marvelous "contrived" one-shot series convinced me to go for it for real. I set it as though it were a movie-homage episode like "Tuesday the 17th" or "The Head the Tail the Whole Damn Episode," but actually I've never seen _Freaky Friday _(any version of it), though I did once long ago see the same concept with, if I recall correctly (I don't care to take the time to IMDB it) Dan Ackroyd and Eddie Murphy, though I don't remember what the title might have been (I don't even know if that's correct, so it must not have made much of an impression on me). In any event, the concept of the curse that causes two feuding people to swap places is as old as storytelling, I believe, and generally as hackneyed as it comes. Be that as it may, I personally would pay cash money to see Tim Omundson playing Shawn Spencer-as-Carlton Lassiter and James Roday playing Carlton Lassiter-as-Shawn Spencer, and I suspect both would be damned good at it. For those in the know the Orb of Agamotto is actually a tool of Marvel Comics' Doctor Strange, so this could be construed as a crossover if you want to get nit-picky about it. I made this portion in the hopes that it would feel like the teaser opener before the title credits and theme song, so imagine The Friendly Indians at the end when it says TBC.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

"And so, to further boost the draw of the supposed _accursed object," _Shawn concluded dramatically, and waved the thing in the air over his head heedless of its fragility and its purported value of three million U.S. dollars, "you stole the Orb of Alma Matso yourself, intending to milk the publicity as long as possible before secretly and mysteriously returning the Orb to its rightful display here at the museum."

Museum director David Thurman snarled in Shawn's direction as his wrists were cuffed behind his back. "It's the Orb of _Agamotto_, you ludicrous miscreant, and it isn't accursed, it's _mystical."_

"_You're _a ludicrous miscreant, you ludicrous miscreant!" Shawn shouted as the man was led away. Detective Carlton Lassiter, arms folded tightly across his chest and a skeptical brow cocked his direction - as always - took a couple of steps closer to where the fake psychic stood on the dais of the museum's presentation area.

"That was unnecessarily time-consuming, Spencer, as usual," Lassiter growled. "You could have sent it in an email. Thurman was just a wackadoo who wanted a publicity boost for his failing museum, for crying out loud, he wasn't Professor Moriarty."

"Oh, Lassie, you'll never appreciate the artistry of the Big Reveal," Shawn said, not unfondly, although he knew full well and counted on the fact that the mild affection in his tone often rankled the older detective more than his most acerbic witticisms. "Let's have a look at this thing, shall we? See what all the fuss is about."

One characteristic the two men shared was curiosity, though Lassiter typically hid his better. Despite his animosity toward the psychic he stepped onto the dais to look at the orb he held, which appeared to be nothing more or less than a simple glass sphere and utterly worthless, albeit somewhat pretty. "You know, this thing feels kind of funny," Shawn said. "It's not wet or greasy but it kind of feels like it is."

Tentatively, Lassiter reached out and touched the orb. The moment his finger came into contact with it, the whole character of the thing changed. Amazed, the men watched in stunned silence as a cloud of colored smoke filled its interior and resolved itself somehow into words, floating ethereally not in the orb but in their brains.

_Though bitter rivals never choose,_

_They'll soon walk in each other's shoes._

The world gave a sickening lurch, and suddenly Shawn Spencer's sense of physical perspective changed radically. He was suddenly standing in the opposite direction, and he was seeing the world from several inches higher than before, as if he'd risen to tiptoes unawares. The character of his body had changed, as well, leaving him feeling oddly unstrung as he lost the increasingly stocky bulk he'd begun to carry as he matured physically.

"Now I know how string cheese feels when you leave it on a car seat on a hot day," he mused aloud, and was only moderately surprised to hear his words emerge in Lassiter's gruffer voice.

"What in the blue bloody blazes - ?" his own high warble sounded from a mouth he wasn't controlling. It was Shawn Spencer's hand that dropped the valuable artifact in its shock, but though it was Carlton Lassiter's larger, longer-fingered hand that rescued it, it was Shawn Spencer's consciousness controlling that hand. Unbelievable as it was, Shawn Spencer and Carlton Lassiter were walking in each other's shoes.

"_Big_-ass shoes," Shawn muttered under Lassiter's breath, regarding the size 12-narrow at the far distant end of one impossibly long leg. This…was either going to be_ really _fun, or really, _really_ horrific. It did occur to him, peripherally, that most likely it would be a bit of both.

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

**A/N: **Forms of address are tough when your characters are physically one person and mentally another. Hopefully you're only excruciatingly confused by the end of this chapter, and haven't exploded.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

"Carlton, there are reporters waiting out front - Chief Vick wants you to give them a statement," Juliet said, clip-clopping back into the museum on her tottery heels. It was Shawn's head that turned, still wild-eyed, to answer her.

"I'll be right there."

"Shawn, the Chief wants _Carlton_ to give the statement, not you," O'Hara answered patiently. "He was, after all, lead on this investigation."

Lassiter's eyes glared mad triumph at Shawn, and a crazy grin split his lips. "Yeah, _Spencer_, you're not invited. Go play with your Hot Wheels collection or something."

Shawn drew himself up as tall as possible, the corners of his mouth turned down in a hard scowl. "Don't even think - "

"The _big boys _have got _grownup work _to do, little man," Lassiter said, purposely towering over the smaller figure. And then over his shoulder he called out, "I'll be there in a minute, Jules."

Juliet gave him an odd look, spared another for the still-fuming Shawn, and walked out, shaking her head as though she'd seen or heard something she couldn't quite believe.

"You are _not _giving a statement to the press, Spencer," Shawn said, sticking a finger in his face.

"What, you'd rather everyone believe you've lost your mind and now think you're Shawn Spencer? It's not like anybody's going to believe we've _actually_ traded bodies. God, I feel so Jamie Lee Curtis right now. Which I guess makes you Lindsay Lohan, neither of which I could accept under ordinary circumstances."

"I'm going to kill you, Spencer."

"At the moment, Lassie, that would be a form of suicide."

"Then I'll hit you where it hurts. I'll go home and shave your hair off."

"_No! _God, Lassie, no! Look, I promise you, I'll play it serious for the reporters, just like you would do. Nobody will be the wiser."

"I'll be _watching," _Lassiter said severely.

Shawn regarded him curiously for a moment. "Wow, I'm really not physically very intimidating, am I? That's kind of a bummer. Although come to think of it, I could probably, like, hold you down and tickle the piss out of you right now, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop me."

"Try it and I promise you, Spencer, that I will take you on a guided tour of hitherto unexplored realms of pain."

Lassiter's face smiled sweetly down at him. "Sorry, Lass - it's just not working. For one thing, my eyebrows arch too softly and my jowls aren't nearly bulldog enough. Besides, just like the killing thing it would ultimately just be hurting yourself. And I can't help it, dude - I know all the places where I'm most ticklish."

"All right, Spencer, but consider this - you tickle the piss out of me and it'll be _your _pants that turn dark in the crotch. And I will ensure that _everyone _sees it, too - television cameras and newspaper photographers right outside that door, after all."

Shawn nodded thoughtfully, a look of newfound respect plastered across Lassiter's features. "Well played, Sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, my public awaits."

He turned and flounced out of the museum like a drab-colored, lanky butterfly, and with a strangled oath Lassiter followed on Shawn's unaccustomedly stubby legs.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

"And so I can only say in conclusion that without the brilliant work of department psychic Shawn Spencer, this case would never have been solved. Thank you. No questions, please."

"Well, that was…unexpected, to say the least," Juliet said as the man who only _appeared_ to be Head Detective Carlton Lassiter stepped away from the thrusting microphones and recorders. She was standing next to a man who looked like Shawn Spencer, but who had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his lips compressed in a thin, angry line. Despite the official credit heaped upon his head, he looked sulky. "What's wrong, Shawn? You look upset about something."

"Oh it's nothing, O'Hara, nothing. I'm just going to kill him, is all."

Juliet peered closely into his face. "Are…you okay? Since when do _you _call me by my last name? For that matter, when did Carlton start calling me 'Jules' and voluntarily handing _you_ the credit for an entire case - _to the press?"_

Shawn looked at her and his hard expression relented. Sheepishly, he apologized. "It's…been kind of a weird-ass day."

She put her hand flat on his back between his shoulders and rubbed gently but firmly. "Aw, poor baby. I hope it gets better. Speaking of which, we're still on for tonight, right?"

Shawn's eyes were huge and perfectly round. "…Tonight?"

"Yes, Shawn. Tonight. You, me, Mediterranean food…I've been looking forward to tonight for a good solid week now."

"He can't, tonight," Lassiter interrupted, appearing suddenly as if by magic. "He's not going to feel up to it."

"Carlton, you promised not to get involved," Juliet said through her teeth.

"Oh, but he's right, though," Shawn said, and gave a feeble cough. "I'm definitely, definitely coming down with something. I'm sorry, Juliet, I'm just not going to be able to make it tonight, but I'll take a rain check, okay?"

Juliet stamped her foot. "Dammit, Shawn, you always do this. Every time I finally get you to agree to do something that _I _want to do, you come up with some lame-ass excuse not to do it. Do you _want_ me to break up with you, Shawn?"

Shawn's dark hazel eyes regarded her frankly even as Lassiter tugged urgently on his arm. "That would probably be the smartest thing you could do, O'Hara," he said.

" - In Backwardsland, where the Backwards Hill People live," Lassiter said quickly. "Don't listen to him, Jules, he's off his medication. I'm just going to borrow your boyfriend for a minute, okay? Don't worry, er, _partner_ - it'll all come right in the end."

He hauled Shawn away back towards the museum. "What are you doing?" he hissed through his teeth. "Good God, dude, I know you hate me, but don't sabotage what I've got with Jules."

"What you've got with _Detective O'Hara_ is an unequal relationship where she gives and you take, endlessly and selfishly, and you do not deserve her, you speck from the ass end of a squashed earthworm."

"Look, Lassie - you're going to help me fix this mess with Jules and then we're going to find some way to trade back bodies, but right now you and I have got _bigger problems."_

"Bigger problems than an angry girlfriend and the _wrong body?"_

Shawn-in-Lassiter's body pranced in place for a few steps, uncomfortably. "Well, not bigger, maybe, but more immediate. Intertwined. _You_ have been drinking coffee all day long. Like, three or four pots' worth, by the feel of it."

"I had a couple of cups, yes. What of it?"

"Well, _you_ drank it, and now _I've_ got to pee. Like, really _really_ bad."

"Then go to the _bathroom, _nimrod. It's not that complicated."

"It _is_, Lassie, because, well, it's _your_…" he flapped his hands spastically in a downward direction, "and I can't touch _your_…"

"Well, what the hell do you want _me_ to do about it, Spencer?" Lassiter exploded.

"Just come to the bathroom with me and hold it for me, 'kay?"

"_What? _Sweet justice, _no! _Good God, Spencer, _your hands _are not touching any part of _my body."_

"I'll pee down your leg," Shawn threatened.

"Go ahead, Spencer - _black pants," _Lassiter countered.

Shawn huffed through Lassiter's crooked nose and finally relented. _"Fine," _he spat, "but if I'm going to have to touch your…_eauuuugh_…then I'm going to expect you to show me the same courtesy. I insist upon the _full three shakes_, Lassie, no shortcuts."

"_Will you just go to the freakin' bathroom, Spencer?" _Lassiter barked, anger and volume overcoming, momentarily, the difference in vocal chords so that he sounded almost exactly like himself.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

Lassiter stood outside the men's room door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, although technically they were neither his arms nor his chest. Eventually his own body came flying out the door, hopping madly like a maniac, while Shawn sputtered and skeeved out about what he'd had to do.

"You are going to have the worst urinary tract infection in history, Lassie, because I am never ever doing that again. I'm just going to hold it as long as it takes to get my own body back. God, you're…" his throat worked spasmodically, as though he were on the verge of puking. _"…Malformed."_

"I most certainly am not," Lassiter cried indignantly.

"You _are_, dude. It's entirely disproportionate."

"It is _not." _Lassiter had a lot of insecurities about his physical appearance, but the size of his penis had never been one. Worried about something he had no business being forced to worry about, for the first time he turned his awareness to the full character of the body he inhabited. He didn't have to look at or touch anything in order to realize that the tight jeans he wore were not quite as tight all over as he might have expected. "Damn, Spencer, you're not hauling a whole hell of a lot around with you in your Green Lantern Underoos, are you?"

"Hey, what I have is _perfectly normal_, and they're _Cars 2_, thank you very much. It's no wonder you can't keep a woman, Lassie - if your personality doesn't scare them off then Frankenweenie does."

"I wouldn't play the broken relationships card, Spencer, if I had as long a string of short-term girlfriends as you do."

"You'd have a _longer_ string if women found you attractive in the first place."

That actually hurt a little, and as always whenever Spencer had landed more than a glancing blow Lassiter retreated to a state of wounded silence to marshal the remains of his dignity. He was aware of the fact that it did not reflect well upon him to engage in sophomoric verbal fisticuffs with the psychic and _losing _always reminded him of how stupid it was. Each time he vowed would be the last time, and each time he was drawn back in - nature and happenstance rendered him impatient and moderately bellicose, and Shawn certainly knew which buttons to push. Far worse than the casual hurts he sometimes suffered in these linguistic boxing matches was the sense that he had no control of himself.

"Come on, Spencer - you're the psychic, right? So use your magical psychic powers to figure out how we get back to our own bodies," he said at last, in a low growl.

"Yes, Lassie, _I am _psychic, but I am not _me_ right now, I am, physically at least, _you, _and your bad juju is interfering with my cosmic awesomeness. I'm pretty much stumped at the moment. Besides, before we do _anything_ else we're going back to Jules and making things golden with her again, because God only knows how long we're going to be stuck like this. I am _not_ losing her just because I can't take her to a stupid dinner club for gnocchi and crumbled feta."

"Maybe you _wouldn't_ lose her if you wouldn't refer to something she's clearly looking forward to as 'stupid.'"

"_You're _stupid," Shawn shot back.

Self-control can strike at the worst times, robbing a moment of the impetuosity necessary for the words that really _mean _something. Lassiter's self-control chose its opportunity to choke off the tide of what he wanted to say and robbed him of the chance to rid himself of a good six months of frustrating silence. More than that, the words he _would_ have said, bald and honest and impassioned, might well have made Shawn stop and think critically of his own actions, a rare occurrence indeed. But he'd promised Juliet that he wouldn't involve himself further in her relationship with Spencer, after the polygraph fiasco, and so he merely drew a deep breath and pushed Shawn ahead of him out the door.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

"What do _you_ two want?" Juliet fairly spat the words at them. She looked like a woman scorned, and both men were smart enough to feel more than a little nervous about approaching her.

"Ju - O'Hara," Lassiter's mouth spoke Shawn's words, "Spencer has something to say to you." He pushed the smaller man forward, with a muttered, "Just say what we talked about."

"Jules." The name emerged from Shawn's mouth awkwardly, as though he'd never said it before, and his voice was considerably gruffer than Juliet had ever heard it. "I'm sorry about tonight. I really want to go with you, but something's come up. I swear to you, we will go as _soon_ as I can take you. Please forgive me."

"No, Shawn. Not this time. Not unless you explain to me just exactly why you're cutting out on what I want to do again, and believe me, it had damn well better be good."

Shawn exchanged frantic glances with Lassiter, who opened his mouth to say, "Well, you see, he - " but Juliet cut him off with a furious, "Stay out of this, Lassiter," and he subsided. Uncharacteristically slow on his feet, Shawn shuffled about a bit as if casting for an answer before replying.

"I'm just…not myself today, Juliet," he said, shamefaced. Lassiter groaned like a man who'd been punched in the stomach and smacked the back of Shawn's head. "What do you want from me?" Shawn barked at him. "I'm not a good liar, you know that."

"_Dude! Shut up!" _Lassiter hissed.

"What is with the two of you today?" Juliet snapped. "It's like you've freaking traded brains or something."

Shawn gaped slack-jawed at her, and Lassiter stepped smoothly into the breech. "All right, O'Hara, you caught us. It's a team-building exercise - you know, walking a mile in each other's shoes. We're trying to let bygones be bygones so we can work together better. And that's why Spencer can't go out with you tonight - he's got to try and pretend to be _me_, so of course it would be incredibly awkward."

Juliet stared at the two of them for a long moment, her face inscrutable, and finally she heaved a gigantic sigh and shook her head. "Well, I don't know what the hell to believe now. I certainly never thought you could get Carlton to _lie _for you, Shawn, so…I suppose I'll just have to accept this…explanation. But you could have just told me straight-up and saved everyone a lot of trouble."

"It's embarrassing," Shawn said, his face red. Juliet gave him another funny look. Then her expression hardened and she jabbed a well-manicured finger into his chest.

"But I'm _not_ letting you off the hook for tonight, team-building exercise or no," she said harshly. "I don't care if you go through the whole dinner pretending to be Carlton: I made the reservations a week ago, I bought a brand-new dress to wear, and we are _going. _That is final, Shawn." She didn't wait for a response but turned sharply on her heel and stalked away.

"Crap on a cracker," Shawn muttered. Lassiter grabbed his shoulder and spun him to face him.

"Look, Lassie - you go with her to this restaurant, you behave in your closest approximation of a human analog, and then you leave her at her place and _go home_, got it? She might have a hard time keeping her hands off you but she's strictly _off-limits."_

Lassiter pulled out of his grasp irritably. "Do you think I need to be told that, Spencer? For God's sake, she's my partner. More than that, she's like my _little sister."_

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" Shawn asked. "I know what you did with your _last_ partner and frankly your relationship with Lauren scares me a little."

Lassiter shook his head grimly at Shawn, mouth compressed into a tight white line. "Not even in jest, Spencer, I'm warning you."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

"_Give me my wallet_, Spencer," Lassiter growled, for the second time.

"I _can't, _Lassie. I need to have your ID just in case someone needs to check it for some reason. Just like you need mine."

"The ID you can keep for the moment, but I'm not leaving you with my cash and credit cards. Now hand 'em over."

"Aw, man," Shawn whined, and dug for the old brown leather bifold. "You know, I could report 'em as stolen and you'd get into a lot of trouble."

"Maybe, but it'd be _your _ass in jail, Spencer. Literally."

Shawn dug out the wad of cash and Lassiter's three credit cards. "Now give me my keys," Lassiter said.

"_Dude!"_

"My keys, Spencer. You aren't going to drive my car and you're not getting unlimited access to my apartment." He dug in his own jeans pocket and came up with Shawn's ring of keys. "Here - you need to go home tonight you go to your _own_ place."

"Okay, but you're going to have to give me a lift over there. There isn't much I can do about the body-swap thing without you, and If I tried to hitch a ride with Gus looking like _this_ he'd crap his pants. And give me my Swiss."

Lassiter groaned and dug out the pocketknife, but hesitated before handing it over. "Give _me_ my gun, Spencer."

"Can't. You ain't got no license to carry, _Mr. Shawn Spencer. _I'm afraid you'll have to live without your security blanket for now, Binky. Don't worry, I don't reckon I got no reason to _kill _nobody, aw haw."

Lassiter looked ready to argue about it, but finally gave over with ill-grace and a muttered "Damn it to hell."

Shawn slipped the Swiss Army knife into Lassiter's pants pocket. "Now remember, you're meeting Jules at her place at six thirty. Don't mess with my hair, it's perfect - just put on a clean pair of jeans."

Lassiter glared at him incredulously. "You're going out with her to what sounds like a relatively high-end dinner club, and you expected to wear _jeans?"_

Shawn looked at him as though he were speaking a foreign language. "Yeah. Why?"

Lassiter sighed. "Never mind, Spencer. You wouldn't get it. Which is exactly the reason why _I_ don't get it, any of this. Come on, get in the car - we've wasted a lot of time arguing, it's nearly six already."

Shawn looked confused. "How can you tell that, Lassie? I'm not wearing a watch."

For answer, Lassiter merely pointed to the westering sun. In response to that, his own face only looked at him in utter blankness. "Let's just get moving, shall we? The sooner this evening is over with the happier I'll be."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

**Freaky Thursday**

* * *

"So what will you be doing while I'm repairing your repugnantly mismatched relationship?" Lassiter asked as both men climbed into the front seat of his Fusion.

"Hey, Jules isn't repugnant," Shawn said reproachfully. "I suppose I'm going to spend the evening trying to figure out a plan of action - you know, trying to get in touch with my SpenStar superpowers. Speaking of, could we stop for a smoothie on the way? A pineapple smoothie would go a long way toward restoring my psychic equilibrium. And maybe some churros."

"You're on your own, Spencer. I don't have time for pit stops, remember?" Lassiter said, regarding the distance between the soles of Shawn's sneakers and the pedals with a sour twist to his mouth. He reached under the seat and fumbled with what felt like a half-dozen or so electric switches until he finally found the one that moved the seat forward, after nearly dumping himself into the backseat with the one that adjusted the angle of the backrest. He cranked the ignition and put the vehicle into gear.

"You know, if it weren't for the fact that I'm scared to death that this might be permanent, this body-swap thing would be kind of fun. I mean, it's not like we all haven't wondered now and then what it would be like to be someone else. I wouldn't have wanted to be _you, _for choice, but at least I get to know what it's like to be tall. Once we figure out how to swap back I'm going to try swapping with Buzz - that is, unless I can somehow get Val Kilmer or Billy Zane to swap with me."

Shawn continued to blather in his semi-incoherent way, so Lassiter did the only thing a sensible person could do in that situation: he tuned Spencer out. He drove to the beachside Psych office and let Spencer out of the car.

"Call me after you drop Jules off tonight, all right, and let me know how it went?" Shawn said.

"All right. And you call _me_ if you figure anything out."

"Will do. Hey, hold on before you tear out of here - let me get you a clean pair of jeans to wear."

"Thanks, I'll manage," Lassiter said, and reversed out of the parking space as quickly as legally possible.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

**Freaky Thursday**

* * *

"Shawn, I…um, hi…" Juliet brushed a curl of hair out of her face shyly. "You look…nice."

Lassiter tugged the collar of his borrowed dress shirt. "Thanks. You're beautiful - er…that dress is beautiful."

It _was _a beautiful dress - flirty but not overtly seductive, a dress that would work well in either a classy or relatively casual setting, in a shade of blue that did wonderful things for Juliet's hair, skin, and eyes. The only thing about it that made Lassiter a little bit angry was that he thought it had probably been chosen with a deliberate eye to classing up a no-account boyfriend's expected jeans-and-plowman's shirt ensemble. And that tonight's restaurant had most likely **also** been chosen for being as classy as possible _without_ having a strict dress code.

"If I might ask, where did you get the suit?" Juliet asked.

"I…borrowed it from Guster. I mean Gus."

"Why?" Juliet asked, eyes wide. Then she shook her head sharply. "Don't get me wrong, you look great, I just…I'm surprised to see you all dressed up, is all."

"Well, this is a nice restaurant you picked out, and you were clearly excited about tonight, so I…thought I should take a little effort to show you that you _can _take me out in public," Lassiter said, though the words tasted bitter in his mouth. If he had his druthers he'd completely screw Spencer over and push O'Hara to break up with him, but while he could easily see himself doing that to Shawn, he simply couldn't do it to Juliet. If this idiot somehow made her happy despite all the times he shunted her aside, deceived her, or disrespected her…well, he didn't have to be glad about it but he wasn't entitled to stand in the way of her happiness, incomprehensible as he found it. He felt a sick sort of certainty that whatever was on the menu for tonight, he was going to be dining on crow.

"Well, that was…unexpectedly thoughtful of you," Juliet said, her face opening up in a bright smile. "Of course, not so much if Gus shows up in the middle of dinner to ask where his pants are."

Lassiter was momentarily flummoxed, and then understanding dawned. "Oh, no - he knows I've got his clothes. I asked."

"Well, you're just full of surprises today, aren't you?"

It was amazing to Lassiter, the words that could come out of her mouth and yet still she didn't sound remotely critical. How many times had she called him out on his worst behavior? He couldn't begin to enumerate the instances. He'd heard her dress Spencer down, too, but she clearly wasn't trying to at the moment. Had she really become so accustomed to the _child_ Shawn was so good at being that she could be only pleasantly surprised when he acted with a degree of maturity? Lassiter couldn't say how Shawn took her occasional (and well-deserved) criticisms, but he knew that when a woman told _him_ that his thoughtfulness was unexpected and his consideration was surprising (and it had happened, more than once), he felt at least a little bit ashamed of himself.

"Well, if you're ready…" he said, feeling abashed even though it wasn't his fault O'Hara's expectations were so low.

"Hold on, let me grab my keys," she said, and pulled them out of her handbag. She stepped out onto her front stoop and staggered to a sudden halt when she saw the Ford Fusion parked at the curb. "Shawn! You stole Lassiter's car? You idiot - he's going to kill you, if I don't beat him to it!"

"No no, he knows I've got it," Lassiter said desperately. "He loaned it to me for tonight."

Juliet looked at him incredulously. "Carlton. Loaned you his car. I don't believe you, Shawn - he won't even let _me_ drive, and he likes me a hell of a lot better than _you."_

"Oh, you're not even in the same category," Lassiter said seriously. "But it is true, we have…_Lassie's_…full cooperation on this. He'd like you to have one date where you don't have to supply the vehicle. Or ride in a blueberry. That was most likely taken without permission."

"Well, that was nice of him," Juliet said, though her tone suggested she still had doubts as to the legitimacy of what she was hearing. "I…suppose we should get going, then."

He got the passenger side door for her and climbed behind the wheel. With his hand on the key in the ignition he paused. "Lassiter has let you drive before," he said.

"What?" Juliet said in surprise.

"He's let you drive."

"Er…yes, I suppose so…when we were in _my_ cruiser, or when he had a broken collarbone."

"But he did let you drive."

"Why are you making an issue of this? Yes, Shawn, Lassiter _has_ let me drive, when he didn't really have a choice. But he'd never let me drive his own personal vehicle. Not that he has to - it's his car, he can do what he wants with it. But I'm just surprised he'd let _you_ drive it, is all."

"If you want to drive, you can drive," Lassiter said.

"No, Shawn, I can't, because Carlton didn't give me permission to drive. I don't use things without the owner's permission."

"He'd rather have you drive than Sh - than me," Lassiter said. "You're a good driver. I mean, that T-bone accident wasn't your fault, exactly."

"Shawn. Shut up and drive." Juliet sat in the passenger seat with her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. Lassiter kicked himself for an asshole and took her advice.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. Too heinously complex for a one-shot, but I tried.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

"Mm, this is good sambuca," Juliet said. "Are you sure you don't want to try a glass?"

Lassiter looked up from his plate. "I can't. Driving."

Juliet laughed. "Does that mean you can't have _one_ glass? It'll wear off before we leave."

"The only time I've ever had a dinner out that lasted long enough to burn off the buzz from a glass of wine I got - " He broke off, realizing that finishing that sentence - "I got divorced" - would garner awkward questions he couldn't answer truthfully.

"You got what?" Juliet asked shrewdly.

He smiled sheepishly. "Is this an interrogation, detective? Do I need a lawyer?"

She ran a well-manicured finger around the rim of her glass and batted her eyelashes. "I don't know, Mr. Spencer…_do_ you?"

"Before the night is out, I suspect so," Lassiter said, only half-joking.

"Hmm, sounds like you're planning on being a bad boy tonight. Maybe I should make sure my handcuffs are in good working order."

Lassiter sat up ramrod straight in his chair. "So, Juliet," he said, too brightly, "read any good books lately?"

Fortunately, she merely giggled and allowed the change of subject to stand.

"Haven't had much chance to read, but I've been working my way through Christopher Moore, like you recommended."

Lassiter had no idea what she was talking about, of course, so he was forced to wing it, which turned out as well as it usually does. "Oh yeah, that…that's a good book."

"Which one?"

"Er…all of 'em," he said. His tongue felt like cotton wool - being Spencer for one night was harder than the obstacle course segment of the physical reevaluation exam. At least he now had a vague idea that "Christopher Moore" was an author and not a title.

"I confess I went out of order," Juliet said. "I read _Practical Demonkeeping _and then jumped straight to _Fool_ - when I found out it was _King Lear's _fool I couldn't resist. When I'm done with it I'll track down the others."

_Practical Demonkeeping? _What the heck kind of literature was Spencer corrupting his partner with? _Fool, _now, that sounded about right, though King Lear sounded a little high-brow for the psychic. He still hadn't a clue what she was talking about but he was capable of taking clues, putting them together, and reaching a conclusion from what he knew. Christopher Moore most likely wrote humorous novels, probably as dark as one could get and still be some measure of funny.

"Oh yeah, that one's really funny," he said. "I won't say anything more about it, though, 'cause I don't want to ruin the ending for you."

"I didn't know you'd read _Fool," _O'Hara said. "I'm at the part where Regan and Goneril have kicked Lear out of Gloucester's castle. I left off as Pocket was climbing over the outer wall to go after him."

Lassiter nodded sagely and turned his attention back to his food, hoping that conversation would fade into an easy - for _her_ - silence.

"Seen anything good on TV this week?" she asked.

Lassiter stirred his noodles aimlessly with his fork. "I don't watch much television," he said, before he could stop himself. Juliet's snort of incredulity was enough to remind him _who _he was supposed to be, but what could he say, exactly? He _didn't _watch much television, and doubted very much that what little he _did_ watch overlapped often with what Spencer watched. "I've been busy this week, I mean. Not much time to…er…'chill in front of the tube.'"

"You must have watched _something," _Juliet said, with a smile. "Come on - spill. It wasn't _Debbie Does Dallas_, was it?"

Lost for his _own_ reaction to that question, facetious as it may have been, Lassiter reached out and plucked _Shawn's_ reaction out of thin air. _"Debbie Does Dallas? _Yeah, in a double-feature with _Deep Throat. _The seventies called, they want their porn back."

"Oh. So it was _Ass Masters_, then, was it?"

Lassiter choked and had to take a sip of water to compose himself. "Actually, Juliet, I believe this week I watched a _Mythbusters_ rerun," he said, with some asperity and complete honesty. "On the _Science_ channel."

"The one where Jamie dresses up in black leather and ties Adam to the Wheel of Pain?"

_Is this the sort of conversation these two have all the time? _Lassiter wondered. Out loud he said, "No, it was the one where they tried to build the Confederate steam-powered machine gun."

Lassiter looked at Juliet to discover that she was struggling to suppress mirth. She failed, and sat back in her chair laughing helplessly. She wiped her eyes with her nice linen napkin and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Shawn," she said. "I know I'm making you uncomfortable, though damned if I know _why_. I can't help it - it's so nice to get under _your_ skin, for a change, instead of constantly being on the receiving end."

Anything he could think of to say in response to that fell into the category of "trying to sabotage the relationship," so he rendered himself speechless with a huge bite of food. After that the conversation turned down safer channels, as Juliet evidently made the decision not to bait him any more. In fact, the remainder of the evening was kind of nice - they talked the way they used to do before the partnership was called into question, a good reminder of why he'd been trying so hard to accept what was, to him, patently unacceptable over the past few months. He was surprised and almost saddened when the plates were cleared away and the waiter asked if they'd like anything off the dessert menu.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Lassiter said, again unconsciously committing an egregious error against the character he was supposed to be playing. Juliet quirked an eyebrow at him but shook her head at the waiter, too.

"Could we have our check, please?" she asked. The server brought the bill around and, with an inscrutable look from one to the other of them, placed the little leather billfold it was clipped into equidistant from both of them. Juliet reached for it but Lassiter was quicker. He pulled his gold card from Shawn's pocket and placed it in the holder. When the server brought it back he signed his own name, in what he was relieved to see was his own handwriting, on the credit slip. He walked Juliet back to the parking lot, gave the valet who drove up with his Fusion a suspicious glare, and handed her into the vehicle. That was the soonest he realized something was wrong - she sat in the bucket seat with her arms folded tight across her chest and a scowl on her pretty face.

"Okay, what did I screw up this time?" he asked in bewilderment.

"When did you get a credit card, Shawn?" she asked.

"Oh, I…I don't have one," he said. He thought fast. "Lassie loaned me his card, because I was short on cash."

"And if I called him up right now, he'd tell me the same story, right? That he loaned you his gold card _and_ his car, because…why? Because you've _traded places?"_

In answer, Lassiter pulled out his cell phone - actually _Shawn's_ cell phone, since neither of them had thought it wise to trade, given the signature look of the Psych phone - and dialed in his own cellular number. Somehow, hearing his own voice at the other end of a telephone call was in some way even more surreal than holding a face-to-face conversation with someone wearing his skin. "Hey, Lassie," he said, "it's me, Shawn. Say, 'Jules' is a little peeved with me right now, because she thinks I stole your car and your gold card. Yeah, I was hoping that, _for the sake of the relationship and all_, you could tell her yourself that yes, this was all legitimate and I'm going to pay you back?"

"Dude, Jules asked _me _out, I wasn't supposed to have to pay," Shawn whined.

"_Yes, _Detective Lassiter, _I am _going to pay you back, because I am a responsible adult who ought, on occasion, to treat my girlfriend to a nice dinner simply because she wants it, with no ulterior motives, and, despite the fact that I am undoubtedly a fiscal nightmare and a damage deposit away from totally degenerate homeless person, I _can_ meet my financial obligations even if I _am_ forced to beg loans from my friends."

"Geez, you don't have to beat me over the head with it," Shawn sighed. "Put her on. And call me again the _minute_ you drop her off, because I've got something _big_ to tell you, you know, about our 'problem.'"

Lassiter handed the green smart phone to his partner and watched her nod into it at the words he couldn't hear. "Okay, you _really_ gave him permission to use your credit card? _Really?" _she asked. "Well, then, I guess I should thank you for a lovely evening, Carlton. Listen - _I'll_ pay you back, all right? What? No, I'm serious, it was nice of you and all, but you really shouldn't have - "

She listened to something else for a moment, then said good bye. "I'll…see you at work, then, Carlton. Thanks again."

She handed back the phone. "That was probably the strangest conversation I have ever had with Lassiter, and I've had some strange ones," she said.

"What was so strange about it?" Lassiter asked nervously.

"Well, he kept calling me 'Jules,' for one thing, which is even weirder than you continuously _not _calling me Jules tonight. You…two…are really taking this 'in each other's shoes' thing seriously, aren't you?"

Lassiter shook his head sadly. "You have no _idea_ how seriously."

"Well, I hope something good comes of it, because I've got to tell you, it's kind of starting to freak me out. I mean, _you_ acting like an adult has been a nice change, but Carlton-as-you is just…_scary."_

"I…suppose he's doing a terrible job of it, as always," Lassiter said, as lightly as he could.

"That's the scary part. He's doing it really, frighteningly, revoltingly _well. _No offense, Shawn, but…you're the type of person who really should be limited to 'one or less.'"

_I think, if I _were _Spencer, that I _would _be offended by that statement, _Lassiter thought. _It seems like maybe O'Hara isn't quite as satisfied with her relationship as I was afraid she was. Good God, what am I supposed to do about that? Try and do something to make her think more _highly _of the jackass?_

He decided instead to do nothing, other than drive her back to her apartment in silence. He was fairly certain that he'd kept his end of the bargain and not done anything on this one date to make O'Hara dump Shawn outright, but Spencer was just going to have to take his medicine later when Juliet finally decided she was done paddling in the kiddie pool. He pulled up outside her building and opened the passenger door for her.

"I had a really good time, Shawn," Juliet said. She sounded a little bit surprised. "I don't mean to sound like an old nag, but it was nice to have an actual grown-up conversation with you that _didn't_ depend heavily on sexual innuendo. For the first time, it really felt like we were connecting as _friends_. I mean, we always were friends, sort of, but you never seemed like the kind of guy who could _really_ be friends with a woman without bringing sex into it. For future reference, a girl kind of likes to be able to be _friends_, _real _friends who just have rambling, pointless, _wonderful_ conversations about everything and nothing, with her boyfriend - at least now and then. I'm not saying we have to give each other manicures or anything, but I think we discovered tonight that we have more interests in common than we thought. It wouldn't be _too_ tortuous, would it, to just _talk_ every now and then? About something other than TV."

"I enjoy talking with you, Juliet," Lassiter said honestly. "I'm sorry I'm not better at it."

She smiled and touched his cheek. He froze at the contact but she didn't seem to notice. "That's okay. You want to come in for a nightcap?"

Lassiter tried to smile. He couldn't tell whether or not he succeeded. "Thanks, but…not tonight. I…I've got to get Lassie's car and credit card back to him, you know. He's timing me, and we don't want him kicking the door in, right?"

She chuckled softly and planted a light kiss on his cheek just below his left eye. "No, I suppose we don't. Good night, then, Shawn."

"Good night, O'Hara," Lassiter whispered after the door closed behind her. Half-stunned, he walked down the steps to his car while dialing his number on Shawn's phone.

"Lassie - great. First off, how'd it go?" Shawn answered after the first ring.

"Fine," Lassiter said. "She seemed to have a decently good time. Now, what did you come up with on our 'problem?'"

"No solutions, I'm afraid, but a course of action. It occurs to me that we could do no worse than to bring our problem to a medical professional."

Lassiter stopped short. "Spencer. If we go to a doctor and say that we've swapped bodies, we'll both end up in a room with padded walls wearing matching white jackets with sleeves that buckle in back."

"No, no, no, no, no, Lassie, you didn't let me finish. It occurs to me that we need to go to a medical professional who _knows _both of us well enough to recognize that we're telling the truth. If we could find a doc with a little touch of the crazies it probably wouldn't hurt, either. So I get to thinking, where can we go to find a guy who knows us both well enough to spot the problem, is kooky enough to buy our explanation, and yet _still_ has an advanced medical degree?"

"_What? _God, Spencer, no - not the _morgue."_

"Yes, Lass-hopper. The _morgue."_

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. There was a time when I actually considered making this a one-shot. Joke's on you, I guess.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

Sitting alone in his apartment all the next morning, wondering what mayhem Spencer was causing at the police department, was the only thing Lassiter could have imagined going through that was more difficult than taking Juliet on a date while pretending to be Shawn. He'd given the man strict instructions - "Desk work only, if the Chief sends you out on a call you let O'Hara take the lead and you stay the hell _out of it" _- but the waiting and not knowing what was going on were torture. He could have gone to the department to supervise, of course, God knows Shawn spent plenty of time just hanging out in the bullpen, completely useless and underfoot, but going without Guster would engender questions, questions might lead him to say things far enough out of character to raise suspicions, and Guster knew Shawn too well to risk spending much time in his company. He sat tight and waited for five o'clock, when he was supposed to meet Shawn at the county morgue. A thousand times he picked up the phone to call in and see what was going on, but stopped himself each time. By three-thirty that afternoon he was almost completely bonkers.

He pulled the Fusion out of the building's parking lot at four-ten, dressed in the same clothes Shawn had worn the day before - for all the man's criticism of other people's attire and hygiene habits, it was common enough to see him in the same shirt and jeans two days in a row and no one at the station would think twice about it. He stopped at a nearby dry cleaners and dropped off Guster's borrowed clothes, then he drove to the morgue at the back of the police station, arriving only slightly early. He sat in the parking lot and waited, and when the dashboard clock told him it was close to five he went inside. Shawn met him at the inside door, looking entirely too cheerful for Lassiter's comfort, and they went in together.

Woody looked up from the instruments he was cleaning as they walked in. The coroner was wearing a hat made out of a balloon animal. At least, Lassiter _hoped _it was made out of balloons - the mottled white-pink and purple color looked suspiciously like a diseased colon. He watched the man's eyes grow wide at sight of them. Woody dropped his bone saw with a metallic clatter and gripped the sides of his instrument cart as if to steady himself.

"Oh my God…you guys have switched bodies, haven't you?"

Shawn elbowed him in the side, which caused Lassiter to regret both his own bony elbows and Shawn's low threshold for pain. "Didn't I tell you this was a good idea?"

"I don't know that the fact the man jumps _immediately _to a vastly unlikely conclusion before we've even said a word to him really commends the wisdom of this venture, Spencer."

Woody was rambling. "Its aliens, isn't it? We're under attack. Oh, I _knew_ this was coming, I _knew_ it. _Why _didn't I jump at that man's offer for a rectal probe blocker?"

"Relax, Woody," Shawn said, "it's not aliens. Lassie and I ran afoul of some black mojo, I'm afraid, from something called the Orb of All my Children at the museum."

"_Agamotto," _Lassiter corrected.

"Lassie, don't be that big gooey vein that surprises you in a chicken sandwich that grosses you out and makes you swear off any chicken-based food for a month. I know that's hard for you to help, but while you're wearing my magnificent face and fabulous hair, do at least make an effort. Help us out, Woody - we need you to work some medical magic on us to get us back to normal."

"Well, I'm sorry, Shawn, but…I'm really not sure what I can do for you. I'm a forensic pathologist, you know, not a witch doctor."

Shawn looked baffled. "What, you mean you can't perform a cranial screw-top brain-swap procedure?"

Woody's face went blank, although not for the reasons Lassiter suspected. "That…surgery was never actually performed on a human, and you'd both be completely paralyzed for the rest of your drastically shortened lives."

"Oh. So, scratch that idea," Shawn said. "Well, maybe this wasn't the solution I was hoping for, but maybe there's something else you can help me out with, Woody." He jerked his chin to indicate he wanted the coroner to step aside with him for a moment. With their backs to Lassiter, the men held a whispered consultation that he was nevertheless completely privy to.

Shawn made some slight motion with his arms. "Look at this, Woody - this is abnormal, right? I mean, like, seriously, frighteningly abnormal, and you'd probably recommend some sort of corrective surgery for it, right?"

Woody jumped about half a foot in the air. "Shawn, put that away! That's not yours!" He shot Lassiter an apologetic look. "But to answer your question, Shawn, no - from a medical perspective, it looks perfectly normal."

"Then look again," Shawn hissed through his teeth. "You can't tell _me_ that this is standard equipment."

"Look, my friend, I'm sure your…_own_…equipment is also perfectly normal. It's a perspective issue you're dealing with - Detective Lassiter is quite a bit taller than you are, really, and it's throwing you off."

"But…but…_proportionally," _Shawn sputtered.

"Well, I am taking into account the fact that slight disproportion is usual for Detective Lassiter."

"Excuse me? Why would it be 'usual' to assume that?" Lassiter interjected. He would have protested prior to that, but the effrontery had rendered him temporarily speechless.

"Well, that old myth about the size of a man's feet is, unfortunately, just that - a myth. It is, however, a fairly decent guideline, particularly when you couple it with the fact that most of the rest of your appendages are also on the large side for your height and build."

"Shawn, put Carlton's penis away, please."

All three men turned immediately to the doorway, which framed Juliet O'Hara. Shawn hurriedly tucked the offending member away and zipped up.

"Why didn't you just tell me what really happened?" she said, in clear exasperation. "Why the song-and-dance?"

Lassiter shook Shawn's head. "You are far and away too sensible and intelligent to ever have believed anything so ungodly stupid, O'Hara."

"Well, thank you, Carlton, but under the circumstances I'm willing to stretch my imagination. It's easier to believe than the idea that Shawn suddenly turns into a quiet, responsible adult on the same day that _Carlton_ becomes an incorrigibly sophomoric ass. What I want to know now is, what are you doing to fix this situation? Because I can't live through another day like today, I'm telling you _that _straight off."

Lassiter shot Shawn a look that, had it involved his own eyes, brows, and frown lines, would have been half a degree away from lethal. "What was so bad about today?" he asked.

Juliet waved him off. "Just dealing with Shawn-shit from the wrong source, Carlton, nothing you need to break out the hollow-point ammunition for. Now, what's the plan? And while you're at it, explain to me exactly _how _this happened in the first place."

"The Orb of Agamotto," Lassiter said, before Shawn could mispronounce it again. "We touched it, and it did…this."

"We were hoping Woody could do something for us, but…it looks like no luck," Shawn added.

Juliet sighed and rolled her eyes. "You idiots, we've got the world's foremost expert on the Orb of Agamotto in our holding cells. You really didn't think to ask _him_ about it?"

Shawn and Lassiter shared a sheepish look. "Well, we were both knocked pretty far off our game, I think," Shawn said lamely.

"Come on, you two - I want things back the right way around ASAP. You, Shawn Spencer, make a _lousy _Carlton Lassiter."

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. There was a time when I actually considered making this a one-shot. Joke's on you, I guess.

* * *

**Freaky Thursday**

"All right now, who wants to be the one to explain to me exactly why my Head Detective and his partner, my psychic consultant, _and_ the coroner all want official sanction to interview a prisoner in our holding cells who is currently waiting arraignment? We've got what we need, I don't see what further interrogation is going to accomplish at this point - and since this was not a case of murder, I see no reason for the county medical examiner's office to be involved at all."

"It's not _directly_ concerning the case, Chief," Juliet said. "It's…an unbelievable circumstance, I admit, but evidently there's something to that whole 'mystic orb of Agamotto' thing - we need to talk to Doctor Thurman and see whether he knows how to…'undo' something that the orb has done."

"And what is that something?" Chief Vick asked suspiciously.

"Well, Chief…I think you've probably noticed today that Carlton isn't quite…himself…"

Vick cocked an eyebrow and tossed a file folder onto the middle of her blotter. "That's putting it mildly. This report on the wrap of the Thurman case is not only written in a startlingly…jocular…manner, it isn't even Lassiter's handwriting. If I hadn't been watching him fill it out from my office, I would have sworn _Mr. Spencer _wrote this."

"He did, Chief. You see, the Orb took Lassiter's consciousness and put it in Shawn's body, and vice-versa. I know it's crazy, but it's true."

Chief Vick put a hand to her eyes and was silent a long moment. "If this is a 'Punking,' you're all fired. You realize that, correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Vick sighed deeply. "Given how strangely Carlton has been acting ever since Thurman was arrested, I'm ready to suspend my credibility temporarily and allow this - although you can bet your happy asses I'm going to watch this whole thing _very_ carefully." She cast a glance at Lassiter. "Forgive me for stealing one of your patented expressions, Detective, but this whole situation is distinctly _'wackadoo.'"_

Shawn waggled his fingers in the air. "I'm over here, Karen."

Vick glared at him, but said only, "Under the circumstances I'll let that slide, but I'd better never catch _that face _calling me by my given name once this is all straightened out. What I want to know now is, why is Doctor Strode's presence necessary?"

"These guys are my friends, Chief," Woody supplied. "I just have a vested interest in seeing them put back to rights." He slung his arms across both men's shoulders. Lassiter put his own arm across Woody's shoulders, but Shawn growled, "I told you before, don't ever touch me," and Woody dropped that arm immediately.

"All right, people, let's get this _Twilight Zone _episode over with as soon as possible, okay? Follow me," Vick said, and led the way out of her office to the interrogation rooms, pausing only long enough to order Buzz McNab to fetch Dr. David Thurman from Holding.

As soon as he was deposited in the chair on the other side of the interrogation room table Thurman pointed a finger directly at Lassiter in Shawn's body, heedless of his handcuffs, and said, "I refuse to submit to any more of that _idiot's_ ridiculous badgering. I am happy enough to cooperate with the official police, but _that fool _must go. And _why_ does that man have a large intestine on his head?"

"Will you take that thing off?" Shawn/Lassiter said to Woody, and snatched the balloon hat off his head so roughly that it popped.

"I am told, Dr. Thurman, that _that fool _is my Head Detective, while this man who _looks_ like my Head Detective is, in fact, that fool," Chief Vick stated, calmly enough. "We were hoping perhaps you might be able to help us sort this mess out."

"You're welcome to start making sense any time now," Thurman said.

"It was your stupid, stupid Orb of OMG," Shawn-as-Lassiter blurted.

Thurman only gazed at him in dumbfounded wonder for a moment, then understanding - and a mad species of excitement - dawned upon his face. "It…it _works? _Dear God in heaven, I never dreamed I'd ever have the opportunity to actually see it _work."_

"It works, Doctor, whatever it is that it's supposed to do. We need you to fill in the blanks for us, now, and help us reverse what its done," Lassiter-as-Shawn said.

"So, you're actually _this_ man?" Thurman said to him, with a nod in the direction of Shawn. "Detective Lassiter, wasn't it? I have to say, Sir, I do feel sorry for you. I can't imagine how trying it must be to live even for a day as this imbecile."

Lassiter snorted through Shawn's over-long nose. "Thanks. But far better than your sympathies would be your assistance."

"Well, the Orb of Agamotto is a tool for revealing the truth, though its method of doing so is entirely situational. Evidently the Orb felt that the two of you needed to see some essential truth, presumably about each other, most likely about yourselves as well. It chose this rather oblique way of leading you to that truth rather than simply telling you outright. I would suggest that it will most probably restore you to your proper selves once that truth has been realized and acknowledged, but you'll need to be in the presence of the Orb when the revelation is made."

"I'll get McNab to fetch it from the evidence locker right away," Chief Vick said. "Thank you, Doctor Thurman, for your cooperation in this matter - it would be difficult to explain the situation to the District Attorney, but I would be more than happy to tell him that you have assisted the police in a tangential matter. I can't promise you that it would help your situation, but it may make him more inclined to offer a plea bargain."

"Thank you, Chief Vick, but more than the chance of some legal leniency, I'd much prefer the opportunity to observe this event. Even if I cannot record it for history, I simply couldn't live knowing that I missed this chance of a lifetime."

"Chief, we may need Dr. Thurman to help us through this, anyway," Lassiter said.

"I agree. All right, Doctor, your chance of a lifetime is within your grasp. Let's just hope this works."

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Totally AU and completely ridiculous. I should be ashamed of myself even for writing it, but I'm not, so there. There was a time when I actually considered making this a one-shot. Joke's on you, I guess.

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**Freaky Thursday**

"All right, so what do we do now?" Shawn asked. "Sit around the Orb in a circle and sing campfire songs?"

"You understand, I've never actually seen anyone _use _the Orb before," Thurman explained, "so there's certainly an element of guesswork in this, but I believe that the two of you should each be touching it - that is, after all, what caused the problem in the first place." Lassiter wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of touching the damned thing again - what if it played Musical Bodies with him again and he ended up swapping with O'Hara or something? - but reluctantly he joined Spencer with his fingers lightly on the shiny glass surface.

"Now what?" he growled.

"Well, I suspect now you need to share your experiences _as_ each other _with_ each other, and what you learned about each other from that."

"Oh dear God - what then? Full-body hugs and Kumbaya?"

"Lassie, keep an open mind," Shawn said. "We need to help each other grow as people. I learned a _lot _about you that might help - I'll go first."

"Great. This I gotta hear," Lassiter grumbled.

"Lassie - do you know what I did today?" Shawn asked.

"Your level best to utterly ruin my career?"

"No - today, I went around the station and I _talked _to people. Your colleagues. I said _hello_ to them, I said _nice things _to them. Do you know what happened - _after_ they stopped looking around for the prank-show cameras and decided I wasn't just getting them to let their guard down so that I could rip out their jugulars with my teeth, I mean? They went away _happy_. Like, really, _seriously_ happy. Look, Lassie - I know I spend a lot of time ragging on you, but the truth is that you're top dog around here - short of the Chief, you're the one every cop looks to for leadership. You're _respected_. _Admired_, even. I know you're a hard-liner and I'm not saying that you've got to start offering milk and cookies to murder suspects, but Lassie - I really think if you treated your own coworkers with a little cordiality then they'd show you that respect more openly, and just maybe they'd do their jobs a little better, too. You've got a big heart, Lass - you just need to learn to _use _it a little more effectively."

Chief Vick, O'Hara, Woody, and even McNab who'd snuck back in to observe despite not being invited, nodded thoughtfully. Lassiter hung Shawn's head momentarily and said, "Okay, I guess I see your point, Spencer. I could…try."

"Great, Lassie, I wish you well my man. I only want to help you, you know - you're like my fifth or sixth-best friend, after all. Oh, by the way - I dug around on your computer and discovered, to my chagrin, that you _don't _have an eHarmony profile, despite what Buzz told me you'd said, so I signed you up. Except I thought the eHarmony questionnaire was totally lame-o, so I signed you up with OnlineBootyCall instead. You already had twelve responses by quitting time, possibly because I mentioned that you always carry a pair of well-oiled handcuffs."

"Jesus Christ, Spencer."

Juliet made a noise like a strangled snicker. "Even if he's telling the truth, you don't have to respond to anything, Carlton. Just laugh it off."

"_Damn straight _I'm not responding to anything. _OnlineBootyCall. _Like the world _needed_ a faster, more convenient way to contract venereal disease."

"All right, Detective, it's your turn I believe," Dr. Thurman said. Lassiter sighed deeply, then met his own eyes.

"I learned that you're losing O'Hara, Spencer," he said, with the decided air of a man biting a bullet. "I don't know if she's admitted it to herself yet or not, or even if there's time for you to fix what's going wrong - or even if there's a _way _for you to fix what's wrong - but it looks to me pretty clear that she's getting fed up with the World's Oldest Adolescent routine. Maybe there's still time for you to salvage the relationship, maybe not, but what I'm telling you now would carry over to any relationship you tried to have - you can't treat a woman the way you treat O'Hara. You can't expect her to take you seriously as a partner if you don't take the partnership seriously. You can't belittle her, her work, her wishes, her feelings. You have to listen to her, and you have to learn to _talk_ to her as well. About serious things, and about things that maybe don't seem to mean much of anything, too. Because if you can just sit and talk to her about things that aren't much taken on their own, they add up to a very big thing - her knowing that you're her _friend _as well as her lover. You can definitely trust that I know all about the talking thing - my inability to do it has played a big part in ruining every relationship _I've _had, my marriage especially. Now, I know you have a…strange…kind of _charm_, but eventually the charm starts to grate on people's nerves if it isn't backed up by anything substantial, and you don't expend a lot of effort on letting people see any substance you might have. I don't give a good God damn about _your _feelings, Spencer, and I know you know that, but O'Hara's mean a lot to me - she's my _partner_, and _that_ means a lot to me. That means pretty much _everything _to me. So for her sake, Spencer, I suggest that if you have any depth at all beneath that shallow exterior, you start to show her. And I further suggest that you break character completely and give her the whole, honest truth for once. About _everything."_

"The truth about _what, _Lassie?" Shawn said. "I passed your polygraph, man - come on."

"Yes, you passed the polygraph I gave you. But it wasn't exactly the third degree, and if I'd given you the same hours-long test I'd have given an actual suspect I don't think Henry's training would have done you much good. Unless you're a _complete_ sociopath, that is."

"_Henry's - ?!" _Shawn sputtered. "Dude, I don't know what you're - "

"Come off it, Spencer. I know both of you well enough to know the old man taught you a lot of the tricks you use to bamboozle people into thinking you're a psychic, although I don't think for a minute that's _why _he taught them to you. Is the old fox canny enough to beat a polygraph? Possibly, and if he knew a way, I'm damned sure he'd pass it on to _you."_

"Initially you _did_ take a lot more time with your answer than we'd allow a suspect, Shawn," Juliet pointed out. "It occurred to me at the time that you might be using some calming technique to disguise your biorhythms. If we had a newer, more sensitive polygraph I bet it would have picked something up. And I've _always_ wondered," Juliet continued, ruthlessly, "why, if you were telling the truth, you seemed to get cockier as Lassiter threw variations of the question at you, why you looked so damned smug like you were getting away with something. And since I can't trust the results of your answer to _that _question, I can't trust the results of what you blurted out _afterwards_, either."

"What? Jules!" Shawn cried in dismay. "You're going to side with _Lassie_ on this? He put you on the polygraph _first, _remember? And he even asked for a new partner!"

She sighed. "Yes, I remember. It was an overreaction, maybe, but I _did_ lie to him. Because of _you. _And I shouldn't have done that, because Carlton was right - as partners, we need to be able to trust each other completely. Before I hooked up with you, I _did_ trust Carlton, and he trusted me. _You_ made me afraid of his reaction, Shawn, when I should have known from the start that, unhappy or not, he would have had my back - the way he's had ever since, even though I know he can't trust me in the way he did. I don't know if you're really psychic or not, Shawn - I certainly didn't believe it at first, but over time I guess I started to believe you - but I will be very unhappy if I find out that you lied, Shawn, and I don't think I'd ever be able to trust anything else you've told me."

"Jules…"

Juliet met his hangdog gaze levelly. _"I _don't know if you can 'fix' what's broken in our relationship, either, Shawn, but Lassiter is right - what he's telling you now could help you someday, with someone _else."_

Thurman broke the long silence that followed. "Well, that seems like a good beginning. Any…any changes happening?"

"Not a damned thing," Lassiter growled, still stuck in Shawn's body.

"Well, perhaps there's something further you need to learn from this experience. Why not try focusing your attention on the Orb? Perhaps it will give you clarity."

Lassiter's face, controlled by Shawn's consciousness, still looked pouty from his dressing-down, but after a shared glance with the _real_ Lassiter in his body, they both turned their minds to the object they touched. As had happened before, the interior depths clouded over and words formed in their minds.

_You'll never bosom-buddies be,_

_But years of camaraderie_

_Made you at least reluctant friends,_

_So now it's time to make amends._

"Hee hee…_bosom," _Shawn chuckled.

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" Lassiter growled.

"Well gee, boss - I'm pretty sure it means a lady's chest," McNab replied in his innocent way.

"Actually a man's chest is also a _bosom_, Buzz - although you're right, generally when people speak of bosoms they mean breasts," Juliet said.

"I wasn't referring to what Moron McGee said, I meant what the _Orb_ said," Lassiter clarified.

"We don't _know_ what it said, Detective," Chief Vick pointed out.

"Oh. Right. Well it said that it was time to make amends. I thought we just freakin' _did_ that."

"It said that we were _friends_, too, Lassie," Shawn pointed out quietly.

"I heard _reluctant, _and that's still stretching the truth quite a little," Lassiter shot back.

"I think the Orb might have been trying to tell you that it's time to simply own up," Juliet said. "You both like each other, to some degree, and neither of you is any good at all at admitting it. Carlton, you never want to say Shawn is your friend even after seven years, and Shawn, _you_ can never say that Carlton is _your_ friend without denigrating it in some way. Is it really so hard to admit? What have you really got to lose? _Face? _You're already wearing the wrong ones, so just go for it."

"Dammit," Lassiter grumbled. He reluctantly dragged his eyes up to meet Shawn's. "All right, Spencer, I'll admit it - I don't like everything about you, and I don't trust you as far as I could throw you, but…well, when you're not being a morally-bankrupt jerk or a self-obsessed ass hat, you're a decent guy who looks out for his friends. I know that even though I haven't been really nice to you at any point since _ever_, you've helped me out of some _major _problems in the past, and didn't really even seem to expect much out of it in the end, though you never missed an opportunity to bust my chops a little - which I suspect is part of _your_ unique, high school definition of friendship, though it isn't part of mine. So, yeah, I _do_ consider you my…friend. And at this point, even if you did tell me that you're not really psychic, I wouldn't actually want to arrest you for interfering with a police investigation on any past case I can think of offhand."

"Thank you, Lassie, that was very gracious of you. By your unique definition of grace," Shawn said.

Juliet slapped him upside the back of the head as though she were his Italian mother. "Don't editorialize. Just get it over with."

"Okay, okay, jeez…no need for police brutality," Shawn said, rubbing the back of his head. "Lassie…you're a robotic, stick-in-the-ass freak, but I recognize that you are a _decent _robotic, stick-in-the-ass freak, and you are my friend. I would get you liquored up and party with you any time. But the liquored-up part is non-negotiable, because you're no fun sober."

They both looked expectantly at the Orb. For a long moment nothing happened, and then:

_Is that the best I can expect?_

"Yes," Lassiter said.

"No question, man," Shawn said.

_You're both seriously messed up - you know that, right? Oh well, can't say I didn't try, and technically you _did _learn your lessons._

The world shifted on its axis, and suddenly Lassiter was looking at Shawn's face and Shawn was looking at Lassiter's. Shawn's split in a huge grin.

"_Hot damn, _Lassie - when you're _you_ and not _me_, you're one beautiful sight."

Lassiter sat back in his chair. "Thank all that is good and holy that's over with," he said shakily. Whether that trembling was caused by relief or the necessity of reacclimatizing himself to his own lanky build was hard to say.

"I second that," Juliet said. "You're really back the right way around?"

"Yes," Lassiter said firmly, glad to hear his words emerge in his own voice.

"_Crap on a cracker," _Shawn blurted in a deep, angry voice. Everyone looked at him, eyes wide. His face was a mask of scowl for a solid second, and then he burst out laughing. _"Psych!"_

Thurman shook his head. "Please, Officer McNab - return me to my cell before I'm subjected to any more of this moron's juvenile antics."

"And the Orb to Evidence, please," Vick said. _"Cautiously, _officer - I don't need any more of my people in the wrong bodies."

People started filing out of the room. Exhausted and wanting only to go home and get used to being himself again, Lassiter slowly pushed himself out of the chair and made to follow the general exodus. Juliet pulled him aside and held him by the arm until the others were gone.

"I just wanted to tell you that I had a really nice time on our date last night," she said. She stretched up and planted a light kiss on his cheek. "I only wish I'd known it was you."

Dumbfounded, Lassiter could only watch as she sashayed gracefully away until epiphany struck him and he bolted from the interrogation room, shouting, _"SPENCER! GIVE ME BACK MY KEYS AND CREDIT CARDS!"_

**FIN**

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**A/N:** And now the band is playing...very slow...and once again, I'll get my coat and go. Hope you enjoyed this weird little ramble through the chasms of my mind. I have to confess I enjoyed writing it.


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